Vital Signs
by Jessahme Wren
Summary: AU between Seasons 7 and 8: After learning of her suicide attempt, Jack reaches out to Renee. T rating for dark thematic material, mild language and adult situations. UPDATED with epilogue.  Let me know what you think!
1. Chapter 1

"You have reached the mailbox of---"

"Dammit." Jack shut it off in disgust. _Twelve times_. Twelve times in the last two days he had tried to reach Renee, only to be shut down by an impersonal, prerecorded message. Had it been her voice on the recording, maybe he would've felt a little better. Or possibly worse, depending on what reason he was considering on a given day for her not wanting to speak to him.

Jack Bauer sat on a battered green park bench in the butterscotch woods of the walking trail and waited to catch his breath. He was one-third of the way into a six mile jog and, per his doctor's orders, was breaking up his workout into two mile increments. It was just as well. Despite the crisp air, perspiration dotted his upper lip and forehead, and he was more fatigued than he would've liked to admit.

It was late October, and Jack had been in New York for three months. Since undergoing therapy to rid him of the prion variant that had wracked his central nervous system and nearly melted his internal organs, Jack was urged to stay close to Mt. Sinai Medical Center, where he was still required to check in for twice monthly spinal taps and MRIs. It had been a long road, but Jack was feeling stronger, more grounded. And sitting there in the golden woods dappled with titian maple leaves, he thought of Renee.

His phone trilled as he stared at it. "This is Bauer," he said tautly. A beat. "Jack, it's me, Chloe. How are you?" He relaxed a little. Chloe had called him at least once a week since his treatments began, and had visited him twice. "I'm OK Chloe." He paused, owing Chloe more. "I'm getting there," he finally said. Chloe said nothing. She hesitated. "Jack, I didn't call just to check in. I mean I did, but—"

"What is it Chloe," Jack cut in, instantly alarmed.

Somewhere on the other end of the phone Chloe set her mouth and took a breath. When she spoke, her tone was genuine and pained. "It's Renee. She tried to kill herself, Jack."

He hadn't heard anything she said after that.

-0-0-0-

"How is she today?" Sara Marshall took the chart from the nightshift nurse and thumbed through the last few hours of data. She was tall and trim in navy blue scrubs, with dark brown wavy hair and hazel eyes. The words on the page confirmed what her co-worker would say next. "No change. Won't eat, barely speaks, and that's to yell at anyone who enters to get out." She shrugged and shook her head. Her eyes were ringed and bloodshot in the harsh fluorescent light. "I'm going home," she said tiredly, turning for the elevator. She waited there, rubbing her neck and shoulders, until the elevator settled on the floor and she stepped inside.

The psychiatric ward at Bethesda Medical Center was not the easiest place to work, but Sara liked it. Her last assignment, Labor and Delivery, was not all that different from what she did now. When you've had a (thankfully) empty bedpan thrown at your head by a spitting, foaming, mother-to-be in the throes of labor pains, a few death wishes and a couple of multiple personality cases seem to pale in comparison.

Sara perused Renee Walker's file a bit further. No calls. No visitors. It had been three days since her admittance.

She knocked experimentally at the door and waited. Nothing. While she didn't _have _to knock, she often found that it made patients feel more at ease (especially the Suicides). "Ms. Walker? May I come in?" Silence answered, so she eased the door open anyway. Her shoes squeaked on the polished floor, abrupt and vulgar in the empty room. It was cavernous within, and quiet. A muted television flashed garish images over the slight woman in the bed, bathing her in strobing, artificial light. It was the only light in the room. The woman lay on her side facing the wall and did not move. Aside from the patient, there was no other evidence that anyone had been there. No coat over a chair, no stale cup of coffee, no wilting daisies. It was as stark as a tomb.

"Well Ms. Walker," Sara said good-naturedly, "I see you have slept some. That's good." When she made no effort to acknowledge her, Sara crossed and turned on the light over the bed. "But you still haven't eaten," she continued to her captive audience, "we're going to have to do something to change that today, okay?"

The woman squinted a bit at the light's assault, raising her arm to shield her eyes. A thick white bandage around her wrist and halfway up her arm bloomed a crimson Rorschach at the sudden movement. It did not go unnoticed. "Let me get that changed for you," Sara remarked calmly, and set to work. The Suicides were different. Sara had seen the gamut. Some were actually relieved that they had failed…those were the attention seekers. Some of the others were surprised to find they had the support of family and friends, love they never knew was available to them. Those were the happy endings. And then some were just angry they weren't dead, like this one. There was no crying family waiting to "understand," no love on the other side. Sara had seen it all too often. These were the ones who tried again and _didn't_ end up here.

Sara performed her ministrations in silence. The woman remained mute and limp, allowing her to move and dress her arm with no resistance. If tending the deep slashes in the woman's wrist caused her any pain at all, she gave no indication. The striking woman stared purposefully at the ceiling, a dispassionate mask firmly in place, refusing to look at the nurse.

Sara finished her other duties and recorded the data. "Ok, that'll do it then," she said pleasantly. She was careful to not be overtly cheery. "Is there anything you need Ms. Walker?"

A curious shadow seemed to pass over woman's face as she actually turned and regarded the nurse. Her eyes were black and distant, but she seemed to consider the question. Sarah waited. "Turn off the TV," she said at last.

The therapist had left it on, Sara was sure, in order for the patient to stay "connected" to the outside world. There was no bedside control, either. It was S.O.P. for "onlies" ("they're the only one in the world who cares if they live or die," or so she'd been told on her first day) and was therefore supposed to stay on. However, this was the first time the woman had spoken to Sara without seething, so she decided to extend the olive branch a little further and acquiesce.

She reached up and turned it off. The very small, very sad woman with the large, wet eyes looked as though she would say more, so much more, but remained silent. Sara left her there in the room with the light now extinguished without another word.

-0-0-0-

Jack pulled into Bethesda Medical Center at 2:14pm. Chloe had briefed him as best she could. Apparently Renee was working for a securities firm out of Los Angeles and was in Baltimore on business. She had been in town for two weeks and was staying in a hotel nearby. She'd been in Bethesda Medical Center four days.

Jack parked his rental in a spot on the second floor of the parking garage. A growing apprehension snaked its way up his spine, settling in his stomach. He didn't know what he expected to find, but however she was, it would be _her_, alive. He has been so close to losing…a friend? A co-worker? He was still unsure. He knew, however, that he and Renee had shared more in one day than some people share in a lifetime of partnership. She could read him in the field better than any agent he'd ever known. He trusted her implicitly. She was strong, capable. _And beautiful_. Yes, Jack would've been a fool and a liar to say he hadn't noticed. It was her character, however, that made Renee Walker who she was. She was a woman of conviction and substance, taking him to task on more than one occasion. Her tenderness and concern for him that day was plentiful and largely undeserved. Jack had seen relationships forged in the fires of unbelievable circumstances, people forever bonded by a shared experience. Jack dared to believe his connection to Renee could be more than that, and it killed him to know there was nothing he could've done to prevent this.

Jack checked his weapon at the security desk, neglecting to declare his hold-out pistol. The metal detector wouldn't spot it, thanks to Chloe, who had programmed a little glitch for approximately 2:30 pm EST. His watch flashed 2:28, so he B.S.'ed with the security guard a bit and was in.

He walked toward the information desk and up to the fifth floor elevator. The psychiatric ward. The knot in his stomach flexed and coiled, and he willed it still. The elevator dinged and he stepped out into a small holding area facing an electronically locked set of double doors and an intercom system. A sparse desk sat unattended, its lamp dark. Jack walked up to the security doors and pressed the call button.

"I am visiting," he said into the speaker, a little unsure of how to begin.

A long moment stretched on, and he was halfway to the button again when it crackled to life. "What is the patient's name?" rang a crisp business-like voice.

Jack cleared his throat. "Renee Walker," he said hoarsely. Somehow that name in this context was so very, very wrong.

"Are you family?" the voice demanded.

Jack blinked. "I'm a friend of Renee's," he finished.

"Your name?"

"Jack Bauer."

"One moment, Mr. Bauer." The intercom died.

After several long minutes a buzzer sounded, and the massive double doors opened in on themselves to reveal a tall, pleasant-looking nurse holding a clipboard. Behind her yawned a wide, expansive and eerily quiet hall tiled in muted tones of blue and gray. The floors shone glossy but reflected the gloom of a gray ceiling. Jack craned his neck beyond the nurse, eager to get inside, to get to her.

"I'm Sara Marshall, Ms. Walker's dayshift nurse." The nurse extended her hand to Bauer, and he shook it distractedly. Jack brushed off the formalities. "How is she…I want to see her." His voice was low, intimate and insistent. Sara immediately discerned that this striking, intense man was very use to getting what he wanted. She glanced at the clipboard, double checking the name. "Mr. Bauer, there is something you should know before you go in to visit Ms. Walker." He pinned her with a steel gaze, hanging on her every word. "There was an incident this morning and Ms. Walker had to be restrained. She hasn't eaten since arriving here, and intravenous fluids were ordered." Sara paused, looking abashed. "She pulled out her IV Mr. Bauer, and struck a nurse."

His reaction was not what she expected.

His jaw clenched, and not for the first time Sara Marshall noticed his rough-hewn good looks. And determination.

"When can I see her," he said again, this time with a little more brevity.

-0-0-0-

Cont. in Chapter Two…please R it helps immensely!


	2. Chapter 2

-0-0-0-

While Sara Marshall didn't know this man, she instantly liked him. He was forthright and stubborn, and he obviously cared for her patient.

"Right this way, Mr. Bauer." Sara led him past the nurse's desk, nodding politely to curious onlookers. They knew Renee Walker had had no visitors, no calls. He was the first, and people were interested.

It was strictly prohibited to become "emotionally attached" to patients, but that didn't stop Sara from caring about Renee. She had started thinking of her on a first name basis, she discovered. There was something about her that intrigued Sara on a personal level, and if this man was as invested in Renee's well-being as he seemed to be, then he intrigued Sara too.

She led him down the hall at a quick pace, noticing how astutely he surveyed his surroundings. It reminded her of her daddy, who had been a police officer. When she was a child, her family couldn't go into a restaurant without him "casing the place," looking for the nearest exit. She wondered briefly if Renee's friend was in law enforcement.

"Here we are Mr. Bauer." Sara stopped in front of Room 514. She reached her hand out as if to place it on his arm, but decided against it. As a result it hung awkwardly in the hair between them, palm-forward. "Ms. Walker may not be happy to see you," she began. "She has been through a lot." Jack gave a short, affable nod. "I understand," he said quietly.

-0-0-0-

Jack looked at the paper nameplate on the door. Walker, Renee. Her doctor's name was Johansson. She was admitted four days ago. He stared at the little sign as the nurse spoke, fighting the illogical compulsion to tear it off, as if that futile action might somehow change her reality. "She might not be happy to see you, Mr. Bauer," he heard the nurse say. He didn't care. He just needed her to know that he was there.

The nurse left him standing at the door, staring at the threshold. He felt a sudden surge of trepidation, of how to approach her, of what to say. He steeled himself and went inside.

_It was so dark_. As his eyes adjusted, he could make out the crude outlines of institutional furniture, a rolling table, and finally a hospital bed, all awash in blue shadow. She lay prone in the bed, her eyes closed, the too-large hospital gown billowing around her slight shoulders. Her hair was a corona of fire. "Renee." His voice was low and throaty in the open room. She didn't stir. The touchscreen display of an IV pump glowed sickly in the low light, casting her face in a ghostly pallor. He suddenly had the insane impulse to take her away, to unhook everything and carry her out and away from all of this horror and take her somewhere she would be safe, somewhere they could both pour out the pieces of their broken lives and put them back together again. Together. Instead, he stood there memorizing her deceptively peaceful face, watching her chest rise and fall in rhythmic succession. It wasn't until he approached the bed and she began to stir did he notice the restraints. Large sheep skin cuffs buckled over her forearms and ankles made his throat tighten, his heart beat faster. _Damn them, _he thought darkly. He settled in a plastic chair beside the bed, studying the cuffs. Beneath the right, a heavy bandage betrayed itself in the electric light. Jack grimaced and traced the edge of it lightly with his fingers until he'd found her hand. Delicately, he wrapped the bone-china fingers of that damaged hand in his own.

He sat there quietly, feeling the warmth of her skin in the dark room, hearing the steady drip of the IV and thinking of nothing, for a long time.

-0-0-0-

"So who is he?" Sara looked out over the delicate frames of her stylish glasses at the interested nurse. "He says he's a friend," she replied tolerantly. She was charting her last patient and not really interested at the moment. "Well, he's certainly a looker," the other nurse replied, punctuating the last comment with a conspirative wink. Sara smiled. "Patty, you're married, remember?" The other nurse nodded. "Yes, but not dead," she deadpanned. Sara chuckled to herself.

She did wonder about him, though. He and Renee couldn't have been that close, or he would've been here sooner. Yet he'd been in that room for hours, and he had certainly been desperate to see her.

She hesitated before entering, but didn't knock this time. She saw him first, who started slightly when she came in. He was holding her hand gently as she slept, her pale hand in his tan one, a wounded dove he'd tenderly scooped up where it had fallen from the perch. She hated to disturb them. Sara smiled in his direction, stopping in front of him. "I'm sorry, but I need to check," she said quietly. He understood, but seemed reluctant to move. Releasing her hand was like severing his arm. Sara unbuckled the right restraint and gingerly lifted the bandaged wrist. Renee never stirred. The doctor had administered a sedative earlier after Renee had pulled out her IV and struck one of the nurses. Sara had been in with another patient, but had read the report. Renee had hit her (with a heck of a left hook) when the nurse questioned her about eating. Which she still had not done.

But that was no matter now. Sara checked the bag of IV fluids and reset the pump. She looked at Renee's placid face and was suddenly overwhelmed with sympathy. Renee was getting a bit of nourishment, at least, and all would get better with time. The corners of her mouth quirked a little as she thought of the very impatient, very protective man hovering behind her. Thankfully, it looked as though Renee would have plenty of support during her recovery.

Sara deftly snipped away the bandage and peeled it from the puckered flesh. The stitches were holding nicely, but there had been damage to the radial nerve. Unfortunately, Renee's attempt had been emphatic. She would need some physical therapy to regain the full strength of her grip.

Most people look away from wounds like this, yet the man's gaze never left Renee's wrist. He looked on, impassive yet not unaffected.

"Mr. Bauer, she may sleep for a little while longer. If you want to come back—"

"I'm not leaving," the man cut in. "I want to be with her."

And Sara believed that completely.

-0-0-0-

Continued in Chapter 3, if/when I continue. In the next installment, Renee speaks, I promise!

Right now I am having some difficulty thinking inside the _24_ universe given what we know about Renee's character on the show.

Thank you so much to everyone who has provided feedback…your thoughts on my character Sara are especially useful (there's always a bit of a risk involved with introducing different perspectives). You have been generous and helpful. Please R&R, your feedback is invaluable.


	3. Chapter 3

-0-0-0-

Renee was only vaguely aware of dying. Red and purple explosions bloomed behind her eyelids, her lungs screamed for air as her oxygen starved body lost its vigor with every beat of her heart.

She weakly fought toward the surface. She didn't have the strength.

Her lungs spasmed and she inhaled instinctively, coughing and sputtering on iron-tinged, tepid water. She was drowning. _It wasn't supposed to happen like this_, she thought wildly. She had bled out too slowly and was still conscious when she went under. The water in the bathtub, now rose-pink with Renee's blood, pulled her down like quicksand. A heavy blackness crept at the corners of her consciousness, threatening to close in. She lay immobile in a watery tomb, death on either side of her, waiting.

_So much for not making a mess._

-0-0-0-

7:32pm

Bethesda Medical Center

Bethesda, Maryland

Consciousness came to her in violent pants for air. Her lungs heaved, her arms strained against the cuffs. She was in the hospital, not in her hotel room. It was nighttime, not that morning. But she was still alive.

Her forehead was wet with perspiration, her lips dry and thin. Her racing heart throbbed in her tattered wrist. _Steady. Steady, _she willed herself. It was the same dream every time she closed her eyes, ever since they'd brought her here.

It was fitting punishment for botching a suicide.

She took a shaky breath. The room was the same, only now it burned with harsh, artificial light. The same lukewarm glass of water stood untouched on the rolling table at the foot of the bed, now joined by another neglected food tray. She caught her reflection in the darkened television, distorted like a funhouse mirror. She was a ghost, a dark shadow floating on a sea of white emptiness. She looked away.

Renee examined her shackled wrists, and something caught her eye. An orange plastic chair that wasn't there before was pulled flush to the bed. She swallowed.

Suddenly, as if in answer to her unspoken question, the door to her hospital room opened. It was Jack. Jack Bauer stood in the artificial light of the hallway, silently regarding her from across the room. "Hey," he said quietly. He was holding a cup of coffee.

She didn't want him there. She closed her eyes. _Just go away, Jack, just go go go go go _a silent litany pleaded in her mind. She wished it had been anyone but him, anyone else seeing her like this. She looked away from him, to the opposite wall. There was nowhere to go. "Jack." Her voice was small, quiet. "Jack why are you here." She couldn't look at him.

He approached her steadily, depositing the coffee on the rolling table with the other silent sentries. He settled into the plastic chair. "I could ask you the same thing," he said tenderly. His eyes were gray in the cool light, and patient. He was hers for as long as she needed him.

Renee refused to face him, but when he reached for her hand she did not stiffen. Unbidden, hot tears streaked down the side of her face. She set her mouth, willing them to stop. She couldn't remember the last time she'd cried. "Renee," Jack intoned quietly. Her name was honey in his mouth, and she hated him for that. She hated he was there, a firsthand witness to her pathetic downfall. "Jack you should go," she finally managed. "You shouldn't be here."

Jack released her hand, letting it fall gently to the bed. She refused to look at him, and he knew why. _Never show your weakness._ He'd learned that about her after Larry had died. The wall had gone up. It was the same way with him.

"Look me in the eye and tell me you want me to leave," he rumbled smoothly. He was leaning over the bed now, murmuring in her ear. Renee bristled at his closeness, the sound of his voice, the heat of his body. She turned into his gaze. She was the only one that could meet Jack toe-to-toe, even at her worst.

Their faces were inches apart. She could feel his breath on her cheek, his capable arms tensing on the bedrail. He filled her vision and overwhelmed her senses. Jack was everywhere. She looked into those unflinching eyes brimming with depth and sincerity. "I don't want you here," she gritted. It took all of her resolve not to break. Jack Bauer, the master interrogator, searched every inch of her face. She wouldn't let him win, she resolved, even as a single tear tracked slowly down her cheek. "Go away. Please."

Jack looked into her soft, pleading face still cooling in Death's shadow. Her eyes were black and empty. She was more venerable than he had ever seen anyone, and he raged silently at the loss of the strong, confident woman he knew. He knew then that he would never leave her, no matter what she said, no matter how hard she fought him. He tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear and smoothed a hand over her damp forehead. "Hey," he soothed quietly, "It's ok. It's ok." She closed her eyes against his voice, against the room and her reality. Tears silently escaped her matted lashes. She clung to his hand as darkness overtook her. It was blissfully quiet for a long time.

-0-0-0-

8:34 am

Bethesda Medical Center

Bethesda, Maryland

Sunlight streamed into the windows of the fifth floor psychiatric ward at Bethesda Medical Center. Sara Marshall stood amid a bustle of activity at the nurse's station and arranged the medicine doses for each of her patients. She also checked the daily therapy schedule and cross-checked it for any conflicts. "So what time did Mr. Bauer leave," she asked casually. She received no response, save for a few confused glances from her fellow nurses. She smiled to herself. "Renee Walker, in 514…what time did her visitor leave?"

A middle aged nurse huffed. "Honey, he didn't leave. He's been out of that room maybe twice in twelve hours." Sara looked in the direction of the room, thinking. Somehow that news did not surprise her. "Well how is she this morning," Sara asked mildly. "Dunno, hadn't been in. Patty was on duty last night, though." The other nurse shutdown, disinterested.

Sara approached 514 and rapped softly. A pause. "You can come in," was the detached reply from the other side. It was Renee's voice. Sara could've been knocked over with a feather.

She entered the brightly lit room. The curtains had been pulled, and the eastern-facing windows were taking the brunt of the morning sunlight. It was warm and bright within. Sara suspected that was Jack Bauer's doing, although a pervasive gloom still hung in the corners of the room. Renee sat partially upright in the bed. Her long mahogany locks spilled over the pillow and cascaded down her back. Her face was pale and drawn. Jack was an ever-present fixture at her side. She was out of her restraints.

Sara glanced at the unbuckled cuffs, then at Jack. He pinned her with an unreadable gaze, the meaning of which she understood perfectly. She gave a miniscule nod. "Well good morning Ms. Walker," Sara began. "How are you feeling today?" Renee smoothed the gown in her lap, a useless action. When she looked up her eyes were hard. "I'm _not_ feeling today," she replied acidly. Sara shrugged it off and approached the bandaged wrist, lifting it with care. Renee actually stiffened a bit at her ministrations, which Sara took as a good sign. Emotion, any emotion, was an integral part of recovering from a suicide attempt. Renee's previous lethargy appeared to be diminishing, but it would be rough going for awhile.

The man at Renee's side seemed to recognize that she did not want him seeing her scars, so he discreetly looked away. As a result, Sara's patient relaxed a little, staring vacantly ahead. When Sara was finished, Renee locked eyes with her. "When can I leave," Renee asked flatly. She looked at Sara as if the nurse were the only person in the world holding her there.

"Well, you know Ms. Walker that decision is ultimately your doctor's." Sara stole a glance at Jack, who was listening to every word. She lowered her voice, folding her arms over Renee's chart.

"Your vital signs are good," she said carefully, "but that doesn't mean you're getting better." She leveled soft eyes over her glasses. "But I think you know that, don't you?"

It was a question to which Sara did not expect an answer.

-0-0-0-

Continued in Chapter 4. Your comments have been incredibly helpful---the reason I'm continuing. Thank you for taking the time to provide feedback!


	4. Chapter 4

-0-0-0-

Renee leveled Jack with a hard gaze as soon as the nurse left the room. She fingered the edge of her hospital gown nervously. Her eyes were frenetic, anxious.

"Get me out of here Jack."

He regarded her cautiously. "You know I can't do that." Her sudden change in mood made him uneasy. "You have to stay here to get better." It was hollow and placating and he didn't believe it.

Renee looked at him with hooded eyes, and just for a moment, a shadow passed over her face. "I'm not getting better, Jack. I'm never getting better."

He swallowed, his face softening. Renee was a coiled spring on the verge of exhaustion. "It'll take time."

Renee laid back on the bed, the too-soft mattress absorbing most of her frame. "What if I don't want to," she breathed. It was imperceptible, a whispered confession.

Jack got up, crossing to her quickly. "What do you mean 'if you don't want to,'" he asked her darkly. "Do you think you're the only person who cares whether you live or die? Look at me, Renee."

"Go to hell."

"Renee,--"

"I said go to hell! Or have you already joined me there?" She sat up in the bed, livid, her eyes aflame and her muscles taught. "Screw this," she said abruptly, and swung her legs to the other side of the bed. In a swift motion she reached for the needle in her arm. The nurse had secured it so it was harder to tamper with, but that didn't stop her from trying.

Jack predicted her intention a split second before she moved. He crossed and grabbed her a little too roughly, inadvertently twisting her arm until he knew it hurt. She gave a little cry of protest. Her lithe body twisted in his grip, her extensive training taking over. He turned her around to face him and she looked up, defiant. Her body was pressed against his, her breathing rapid and her eyes wild. "What gives you the right!" she spat as she twisted away from him. "It's my life, Jack. Mine. And _I_ get to decide what to do with it." She stood there in her bare feet glaring at him, panting quietly against the wall of the empty room. To Jack, she looked sadly and stubbornly alone.

"You're right," Jack heard himself say. "It is your life." But I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for you." She looked at him curiously. "You're the reason I had the procedure. If you hadn't spoken to Kim—" he looked away, then earnestly into Renee's face. "You wouldn't let me give up. He swallowed. "And I can't let you give up."

She looked at him then, dimly remembering events from a lifetime ago. That was a different person in a different time, and who or what she had been or done no longer mattered.

"I'm sorry I'm not dead," she said distantly, and slid down the wall to rest in a sitting position. She brushed her hair away from her face with a shaky hand. "I really, really am."

Jack watched Renee where she sat folded on the polished floor. Her knees were bruised, and she rested her forehead on them. He crouched on the floor in front of her. "I'm not," he said in the stillness. He wrapped his hand around her upper arm and pulled her close to him. She didn't resist.

"Give it a chance," he said into her hair. "It gets better. Believe me, I know."

-0-0-0-

Hotel Monaco

Bethesda, Maryland

6:15pm

Jack used a badge and ID (compliments of Chloe) to gain access to Renee's hotel room on the 9th floor. He didn't bother with CTU credentials, mostly because CTUs involvement in a suicide attempt might arouse more suspicion than desired. That, and the fact that he didn't exactly work for CTU anymore.

He walked down the richly lit hall, passing identical doors with identical brass handles. A few room service trays lay at the thresholds, impressing the lush maroon carpet with their burden of dirty dishes. Jack keyed in the security code to Renee's room and stepped inside.

It smelled of cleaner and antiseptic. The lights were low and the bed was made. He suspected Renee had done before…everything. In the corner he spotted her suitcase and proceeded to unzip it. It was small and from the contents within, it didn't look like she had planned to stay long. He placed it by the door.

A glass of water stood on the nightstand. A Gideon Bible lay open next to it. He found that interesting.

After discovering he had been unconsciously avoiding it, he found his way into the bathroom. He had read the reports and knew that this was where she'd been found. Had it not been for the dry cleaning, he might be visiting Bethesda on an entirely different errand. The young man delivering her clothes became alarmed when he heard what sounded like struggling underwater and couldn't get an answer at the door. He had housekeeping open it and found her in the tub, nearly drowned.

The bathroom had been impeccably cleaned. No one would have ever guessed what had transpired there nearly a week ago, although the room still remained off limits to further guests. He glanced quickly at the garden tub in the middle of the room, then looked away. Jack gathered the trifles scattered on the vanity and turned his back on it.

In the floor of the closet there was a small overnight bag containing, among other things, a gun. It wasn't her service weapon from the Bureau, which she'd had to relinquish, but it was a similar make. He checked the full clip and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans. There was also a pantsuit in the closet, no doubt for her business meeting. He left it.

Jack grabbed the few things he thought she might need and left.

-0-0-0-

"Renee Walker is not progressing." Dr. Barrett Johansson took a pen from his pocket and scribbled a quick signature on a passing clipboard. "She is not eating and is making little attempt at communicating. I also suspect her violent tendencies will only escalate if she is left in low-security. For that reason, I am moving Renee Walker to Tier 1 status. She'll be in complete lockdown until further notice."

Sara Marshall watched the doctor's sleek, bald head punctuate the air as he walked briskly down the hall. She felt helpless to stop what was clearly a poor decision. He tucked a loose curl behind her ear. "That's not true you know, about communicating. She is accepting visitors." Or _one visitor, _Sara mentally amended. Dr. Johansson gave her an annoyed look before stepping onto the elevator.

Sara felt sick, but was instantly glad she'd swapped shifts with another nurse so that she could pull a double. Renee wouldn't make it a day in lockdown. Further isolating her would push her completely over the edge. She would try again, or simply starve herself until the doctors began eating for her (which would only drive her deeper into depression). _Didn't the doctors know that this wasn't about food, but control?_ she thought to herself. _Suicide is all about reasserting power. People who try to kill themselves usually feel as though they have little control over any other aspect of their lives. Suicide is often a final, desperate assertion of self._

Renee didn't need life thrust upon her in the form of medical intervention. She needed to know that she has the power to get better. Frustrated, she passed off her last few patients to a fellow nurse and went directly to Renee's room.

She wasn't in bed. Renee was sitting in the vinyl high-backed chair on the far side of the room. The room was dimly lit, and through the blinds, the ambient light from the city threw jagged slashes of light across her face. "Where's your visitor?" Sara asked the seated woman.

"He'll be back." It was a non-answer. Sara eyed the plastic chair. "Do you mind if I sit down?" Renee favored her with a slightly bemused expression. Sara placed the clipboard on the foot of the bed and positioned the orange chair several feet between them. "How do you think you're doing," she probed carefully.

Renee looked at her, indifferent and annoyed at the same time. "Not too good I guess." When Sara didn't say anything, she added, "I still want to die, if that's what you mean."

Sara nodded. "Yeah. Well, that part gets better," she said quietly. And then she pushed a wide, ornate bangle bracelet up her slender arm, exposing her left wrist. In the low light, Renee could see the silvery-white scars glowing. She swallowed.

"So why'd you do it," Renee asked quietly. Sara looked at her with genuine understanding. "Same reason," she said.

Renee looked away. Sara looked at her, her eyes suddenly steel. "They're going to lock you up Renee, and I can't stop them. They think it will help you. It won't." She stood. "You can't go back and redo things. All you have is now. Do the best you can with that."

"Get some rest, Ms. Walker. And eat tomorrow, or they're going to put a tube in your stomach and put you in restraints."

Renee looked up at her, slightly stunned. "And when your friend gets back, tell him I want to see him."

-0-0-0-

Bethesda Medical Center

8:01pm

Jack hefted the small duffle and walked purposefully down the hall, past the nurse's station. To avoid dealing with security again, he'd stashed his gun in Renee's hospital room. Her gun he'd left in the car. He rounded the corner with a clear path to Renee's room, only to find her nurse standing there. She stepped partially into his path, stopping him.

"Mr. Bauer, can I have a word with you?" Jack nodded curtly, and she led him to a small conference room connecting the two wings of the psych until. "What's this about?" His intense eyes shone with barely restrained urgency and obvious concern.

Sara cut right to the chase. "The doctor is moving Renee to Tier 1 status. Non-compliant and critical. They're moving her to the maximum security wing tomorrow morning, Mr. Bauer. It's reserved for our sickest patients. She won't be allowed any visitors."

Jack's jaw tightened. He knew what maximum security meant, even if it was in a hospital setting. And he knew exactly what had to happen. He looked at Sara Marshall, searching the nurse's face.

"Will you help us?"

-0-0-0-

Continued in Chapter Five. Your feedback has been so incredibly helpful, editorial, and encouraging. Thank you for taking the time to offer your thoughts on my little story :-).


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

-0-0-0-

"All you have is now. Do the best you can with that."

_But how_? It seemed like a tall order…an impossible order. Renee stood in the bathroom, looking at herself in the shatterproof mirror above the sink. Her eyes were rimmed and dark underneath, and she was trembling slightly. At least the IV was gone, having been finally removed after her latest attempt to do it herself. She steadied herself at the sink. The cool tile of the bathroom floor sent steady jolts of sensation through her feet and legs. She was, indeed, alive. Now what?

She splashed some cold water on her face to clear her head, and was surprised to find that it felt good. She did it again. "Ok," she said aloud. _Start with the basics_.

_You're in the hospital because you tried to die and failed. Now you're stuck, because apparently you can't even kill yourself properly (or manage not getting fired or have some semblance of a personal life) and you're chicken to try again. Yeah. You're afraid to try again, and that's even more pathetic than trying again and failing. _

_A mess. You're a mess. _

"_All you have is now."_ In Renee's eyes, she had very little at the moment. The hospital room, the death wish, and the good, cold water. And hunger, she realized. She was hungry. The realization stupefied her with its simplicity. She wasn't before, and now she was. So she had hunger.

And she had Jack. Jack was there and he wouldn't leave. He said it would take time, to give it time. But time is the enemy when you don't want to live; there's always too much of it, and too many things trying to fill it. Like Jack. He was still so much of a mystery to her. Jack, who kept his hand to the darkness without closing his fingers around it. Jack, who seemed to be full of so many good things. He shamed her with his presence and his undeserved concern.

Jack wouldn't leave. She had him. She shut off the lights and closed the door behind her.

As she was walking out, the door to her room swung open. It was Jack. He carried a bag, which he tossed on the bed. His demeanor had changed into one of tightly wound tension. "I brought you some things," he said in a rush. "Get changed, we're leaving."

She watched him reach up behind the wall-mounted television and retrieve a gun wedged under the frame. Renee's eyes widened in surprise. "What's going on Jack?" Her heart rate accelerated.

"We've got to go, Renee." He moved closer to her now, his eyes resolute. "They're going to put you in lockdown. Maximum security wing, tomorrow morning." He locked eyes with her. "I can't let that happen."

He handed her the bag. "Get ready," he said tensely, and turned to leave. She knew that in his mind he was already playing out whatever had to transpire, while she knew nothing. Less than nothing. She stood there, hesitating.

"Hey," he returned to her, reached and gingerly cupped the back of her neck with his hand, centering her face with his. "Do you trust me?" His voice had lost its urgency. Time slowed, resonating between them like the endnote of a beautiful aria. She shook her head, a short, rapid nod. Under the scrutiny of his gaze, she forgot to breath. "Yes, she exhaled. It was firm and decisive.

Jack looked away, breaking the contact. "I'll be right back," he said. And he was gone.

She'd said "yes," but wasn't that the only thing anyone could say to Jack? Except she had meant it. She did trust him, was compelled to trust him. And while she had not known him very long, she knew Jack would never hurt her. It was a good feeling and strangely liberating.

She opened the bag on the bed. It was a piece of her luggage with her clothes inside. On top was a folded set of hospital scrubs, a stethoscope, and shoes. She put them on and tied her hair in a low ponytail. The shoes were a little loose, but would work. She checked the mirror again, smoothing her hair back. She was ready.

-0-0-0-

"You'll only have five minutes after the shift change, then you're on your own." Sara looked at Jack Bauer, a man she hardly knew and had met only days ago. "Thank you," he said in a low tone. He looked at her pointedly, thinking of how much he'd already asked of her. "I need the location of the security cameras…fifth and second floors, the parking garage, and the elevator." She shifted in the small supply closet and nervously checked her watch. "Ok," she finally said. "I'll have to get them from security somehow. Look, I have to go. You need to make your move soon."

Jack looked at the young woman fully. "I know what you're risking for this," Jack began. Sara stopped him with a raised hand, and Jack saw the scars on her wrist. "Just take care of her," she said quietly. "Take care of both of you."

-0-0-0-

Jack exited and stealthily made his way down the hall, presenting a façade of casual urgency. He opened the door to Renee's room and slipped inside.

Renee stood in a pool of moonlight, her arms folded across the middle of her borrowed navy blue scrubs. Her shoulders were slumped slightly, but when she turned to look at him, her eyes were bright. She'd tied her hair back, revealing a delicate profile and graceful neck. She was beautiful.

Jack cleared his throat, immediately chastising himself for letting his thoughts drift. "You ready?"

Renee dipped her head, and for a moment, there flitted a whisper of a smile. "Yeah."

-0-0-0-

The plan was simple enough, though executing it might be something else entirely. Sara had sweet talked the surveillance blueprint from security (citing a paranoid schizophrenic's conspiracy theories), but that might've been the easy part.

While concocting the plan, she still maintained her rounds and responsibilities, dividing her attention between the two worlds so as to not arouse suspicion. It was unbelievably complex.

She rounded the corner, passing the fifth floor nurses station. All of her coworkers seemed to notice her at once, but their attention was only a product of her heightened awareness. Her illicit activities made her feel exposed, made the hair on her arms stand on end.

Sara ducked into Room 514, looking as business-like as possible. Her heart thundered in her chest, her throat constricted. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves.

Jack and Renee were standing close together. Renee appeared calm and somewhat focused, a welcome change from the erratic, angry woman she'd known for the past week.

He was talking to her in a low, purposeful tone while Renee listened intently, her head turned slightly into their conversation. Occasionally, she nodded. She said something then, and he absently touched the slight bend in her elbow, holding it briefly. The sweet intimacy in that simple gesture made Sara feel uncomfortable, like a voyeur.

"It's time," Sara announced steadily. "We don't have long. The security cameras will be angled for three minutes, but anything longer is pushing it." She handed Jack the folded blueprint, then crossed in front of him and reached for a hospital gown. "I need to get changed."

Renee looked at her, then at Jack. Jack stepped forward, taking the gown from her and placing it on the bed. "No, you don't." Sara looked at him, stunned. "I can't let you take the fall for this." Jack swallowed, his eyes softening. "You've done too much. We're doing this my way."

Sara shook her head. "It will be easier if Renee and I trade places…there's already a resemblance, and if she keeps her head down you two can just walk out of here. She's not due a bed check for another fifteen minutes. It's plenty of time." Jack's jaw clenched, but before he could reply, Renee said "And what about you? What do you think will happen to you when they find you here?" Her voice held a brittle edge, but her eyes betrayed the concern there.

Sara swallowed. She already knew what would happen. She'd lose her job, at best, and her license. If she didn't go to jail, her career, at least, was over. Jack crossed to Sara, looking her in the eye. "We do this my way."

She understood.

-0-0-0-

"I'm sorry, but this has to be convincing."

Sara winced as Jack tightened the bonds around her wrists and ankles. He'd torn part of the bed sheet in strips, and he now bound Sara's hands to the bedrail. She was on her knees on the cold floor, her ankles bound behind her in the same way, her hands tingling from the tourniquet around her wrist. Her thighs trembled in the awkward position. "You don't have to do this," Sara said, her words paradoxical given her situation. "If they find you—"

"They won't find me," Jack said tersely. "And you're an innocent in this. Wait a few minutes for the shift change, then keep them busy explaining what happened. Tell them you came in on rounds, and you were blindsided. When you came to, we were gone." Jack tore another strip from the sheet. Renee handed him a washcloth from the bathroom. Sara shook her head slightly, trembling a little. "Thank you," he said, and then, "I'm sorry," as he stuffed the washcloth in her mouth and tied the gag tight. Renee looked on, her face unreadable.

-0-0-0-

Jack and "Sara" walked casually down the hall, toward the elevator. Renee wore Sara's glasses, but kept her head down, pretending to review the file in her hand. A close-fitting long sleeve white shirt under her scrubs hid the bandage on Renee's wrist, and with the stethoscope and Sara's generous height, she looked the part.

They kept a steady, determined pace, yet Jack was careful not to go too fast. They slipped by the first angled security camera, then the second, making their way to the electronically sealed double doors that would lead them out of the psychiatric ward. Renee took Sara's ID and swiped it over the security pad. There was a low buzz, and the doors lurched open.

Directly into the path of middle-aged, balding physician waiting on the other side. Jack recognized the elegantly embroidered name on his white coat ("Johansson") from Renee's door. He was her doctor. Renee kept her eyes down, trying to keep a low profile. Johansson noticed the "nurse" right away. Forgoing pleasantries, he addressed her in a clipped, dour tone. "Sara, I need those test results on the patient in—" he stopped abruptly, recognition flashing in his eyes. He opened his mouth, probably to call for security, but never got the chance. In a flash of movement, Jack drew his weapon and clubbed the man with the butt of his gun, rendering him unconscious. Jack caught him before he fell completely to the floor. He checked for a pulse, and he and Renee towed the man's dead weight behind the empty security desk. Unfortunately, it wouldn't be long until someone found him.

Bypassing the elevator, Jack grabbed Renee's hand and led her into the stairwell.

They were running out of time.

-0-0-0-


	6. Chapter 6

They were nearing the second floor parking garage when the klaxons began to sound. He knew they had precious few minutes before the doors sealed and they were trapped. He looked at Renee, still unsure of how to treat her, of what to say. She descended the stairs alongside him, her hand entwined in his, the contact passionless and necessary. Her eyes were cast downward, perhaps gauging their rapid descent, perhaps somewhere else entirely.

Jack paused against the wall, surveying the parking garage through the small window in the stairwell door. It was too open, too exposed. They would have to risk it.

He slipped into the bright hallway, headed for the exit.

-0-0-0-

Chloe's phone rang twice before she reached it. It was Jack, and he rarely called her unless he needed something. It was a simple observation, with no negative connotation attached. Jack simply never called "just to check in." It wasn't his way. With some concern, Chloe answered.

She heard the rain and the road noise first over dead air, then Jack's clear voice cut in. "Chloe, it's me." A perfunctory greeting he usually neglected. She heard him take a breath. "I need you do something for me."

The windshield wipers punctuated every blank syllable as Chloe moved discreetly to the next room, into the small area of her house she had haphazardly set up as her office. Morris was in the kitchen, a baby monitor in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. She'd rather him not hear.

She sat down in front of one of the three laptops opened on the desk. "What's this about Jack?"

She could hear him thinking, a statement that had always seemed illogical before meeting Jack. "I need you to smooth things over with the hospital where Renee was." The change in tense was not lost on her. "Make it look like we were apprehended, captured not far from the hospital. Can you do that?"

Chloe worked her mouth, thinking. _Apprehended for what?_ she thought of saying. She huffed silently instead, swallowing the words. "Sure Jack. You wanna tell me what this is about?"

Jack looked at Renee, who seemed oblivious to their conversation. "She needed to get out of there Chloe."

There was a pause on the other end. Chloe nodded to herself, knowing Jack, trusting his judgment.

"Ok," she said. And hung up the phone.

-0-0-0-

It was raining steadily when they left the hospital, the alternating straight-down and torrential side assault not uncommon for storms off the Chesapeake. Renee sat tense and still in the front seat, her elbow propped on the door, two fingers resting over her mouth, staring out the window. The rain slicked highway danced with a thousand little lights, and liquid shadows like an old film image warped and distorted the world outside, making the concrete truth of Jack's rental car seem crudely separate. They drove in silence.

"Where are we going?"

It was the first thing she'd said since they left the hospital. Jack hesitated, realizing he didn't really know himself. "We need to get out of town, keep a low profile for a few hours." She said nothing. "Chloe's issuing a false report, sending it through regular channels. That should keep us in the clear." Renee looked straight ahead, past the rain. "Yeah I know, I heard you." It was automatic, a knee-jerk response.

_As was mine_, he ruminated, the whole affair. While he didn't second guess his decision, he wondered about his next move. She was so volatile now, the thread so tenuous. He looked at her soft features now angular in the creeping shadows and searched for something to say. In the end, he said nothing. There were miles between them and ultimately, miles more to go.

-0-0-0-

Renee shifted slightly in the seat, absently fingering the door handle. They'd been driving for hours and had said little. She wanted to say thank you, wanted to do something, but there were no Hallmark sentiments that seemed appropriate. She studied his face…driven, determined, resolute. Focused. Single-minded. Jack. He broke in on her thoughts. "Hey, you hungry?" They were somewhere in Pennsylvania. She really didn't care where. But she remembered that she was hungry, had been hungry for awhile. "Yeah," she replied.

The Tick-Tock Diner

Easton, PA

The Tick-Tock was one of those quaintly retro all-night establishments that was clean and usually had good food. They pulled up to the side, under the shadow of the big neon clock, and walked in.

They both ordered coffee and breakfast plates. Renee studied her fork, the scarred green Formica, and remembered she didn't have any money. "Oh God Jack, I don't—"  
"It's fine," he interrupted, somehow finishing her thought. He smiled, and Renee didn't know if she had ever seen that, had ever seen him smile. It was wonderful, she realized, and she marveled at how such a simple thing could make him even more handsome. "I don't even have an I.D.," she said, bewildered. Jack looked at her, his face a perfect, pensive mask. "Well, if we get drinks later, I'll do the ordering."

She laughed suddenly, a sharp chuckle that took her completely by surprise. It sounded so alien to her. She abruptly stopped, suddenly self-conscious.

Renee blinked. Jack Bauer had made a joke. Would wonders never cease?

They ate in relative, comfortable silence. Jack studied her between bites, pleased she was eating, getting her strength back. And she had laughed. He smiled at the memory. A deep, throaty chuckle that had ended as quickly as it began. That little gift was so unexpected, so beautifully spontaneous. If only she could do that more often. If only she could have a reason to.

"Promise me you won't hurt yourself again."

He'd said it before thinking and instantly regretted it. She stopped eating and looked at him, a mélange of emotions playing on her face. Her eyes slipped closed, her face suddenly stricken. "I can't," she whispered. "I can't promise anything, Jack." She looked at him with such sadness it took his breath. "I don't have a reason not to," she answered finally, and pushed her plate back.

_Damn_, he thought, hating himself for opening his mouth.

"Let me be a reason," he heard himself say, and instantly realized how arrogant it sounded. He slipped his hand across the table, carefully grabbing her injured one. "You don't have to go through this alone." His voice was low and his eyes searched her face. She exhaled deeply, her eyes closed. When she opened them, he was still looking at her. His hand was warm, tangible. She nodded quickly, squeezing his hand lightly in reply.

-0-0-0-

While the storm had abated some hours before, they now found themselves in the heart of another downpour. The rain was relentless, pounding so hard it made driving nearly impossible. He looked over at Renee. Her shoulders sagged into the seat, her eyes were fixed on the road and glassy with exhaustion. It was a few hours before dawn, and she needed rest. They both did.

"We're stopping for awhile," he said finally. She didn't protest.

Bear Creek Motor Inn

Rural northeast Pennsylvania

It was a motel just off the highway, one of those out-of-the-way places that are still family owned and one in which you can usually get a good night's sleep. The well-kept complex of buildings was nested in the beautifully painted woods of northern Pennsylvania, making the state a common destination for foliage enthusiasts.

It was dark, however, and pouring rain, and the normally beautiful, bucolic scene loomed sinister and foreboding against the pre-dawn landscape.

Jack and Renee walked quickly through the deluge, sloshing a trail through the generous standing puddles until they'd made it to the front door. Jack approached the desk and waited. He looked at Renee, who stood warming herself by a heater in the tiny lobby. He couldn't leave her alone, he knew, not yet, couldn't let her out of his sight.

He paid cash for one room, and accepted the key.

-0-0-0-

Renee stood by the small heater in the shabby lobby and waited for Jack. Stay here and keep warm, he'd said to her, the room's probably chill. But she knew the real reason.

He didn't trust her, and she couldn't blame him. She didn't trust herself.

She glanced at the kindly old attendant behind the desk, managing a quick smile. Her watchdog, she gathered. She turned away, toward the window. The parking lot gleamed like black glass, neon and halogen light casting the world in a diffuse glow. Absently she tracked an oil-slick of rain as it slid lazily down the window, only to dissipate and lose its path. Suddenly, for the first time in awhile, she was glad she wasn't alone.

-0-0-0-

Jack returned to the car, retrieving a small bag of Renee's and his duffle. He withdrew Renee's gun, removed the clip and shoved it in the tire well, out of sight. Alongside that, he stashed the pistol he'd emptied and hidden in the hospital room. Right now, with Renee, he couldn't afford to take any chances.

She was waiting for him in the lobby by the door, her arms folded, staring out into the rainy early morning. He shouldered his way in, shaking off the rain. They made their way together down the long hall.

The room was quietly furnished and clean. The two double beds were separated by an end table and a small lamp. There was a television, a dresser and a small bathroom. The room was austere, functional and, to Jack at least, entirely acceptable.

Renee stopped just inside the threshold, as Jack placed the bags on the bed and shrugged off his wet jacket. He was on the far side of the room, near the small closet. She looked at him, remembering the "guard" he'd posted in the lobby. He was watching her warily. "I'm not going to try anything Jack." She swallowed, registering his surprise. _I would never do that to you_, she didn't say. _You've cleaned up enough of my mess_.

He was standing in front of her now, regarding her evenly. His damp shirt clung to his arms and chest, and his hair was wet. She was shivering. "You're soaked," he said roughly. He placed his hands on her arms to quell the shaking there. They were warm, and she craved more of them. Unexpectedly, she pressed herself against him, hugging him tightly. His arms encircled her shoulders, her lower back. He held her in a firm embrace and, momentarily, the gnawing dread that had roared at Renee for so long was silenced. She thought fleetingly that if all of life were this, it might be manageable.

"Thank you," she whispered into his neck. He patted the wet tendrils of her hair as he and Renee stood in each other's arms, dripping on the carpet.

-0-0-0-

Jack sat on the edge of the bed. His shirt was off and spread against the heater to dry. His phone rang. It was Chloe. Sometimes he wondered if she ever slept.

"Are you two ok?" Chloe rarely had need of a preamble; they were alike in that way.

"Yeah we're fine," Jack said. "We're in Pennsylvania."

"How's Renee," Chloe asked, genuine concern in her voice.

Jack considered, glancing at the closed bathroom door where Renee showered. "She's better Chloe. She's still got a long way to go."

On the other end, Chloe nodded. "What about you?"

Jack sniffed. "I'm fine. I have to be back in New York in two days. Did you fix things with the hospital?"

"Yeah." A beat. "Jack, what happened there?" Chloe's voice was laden with disbelief. "Hospital security reports that you kidnapped a nurse."

_Sara_. "Is she ok," Jack asked, his voice urgent with concern. "Yeah," Chloe replied, "She's fine. A little shaken up, nothing serious."

Jack sighed, relieved. "Good."

He heard the bathroom door open. Renee stood in the doorway, toweling off her hair with her left hand. A fresh puff of steam followed her, and her cheeks were slightly flushed. He remembered he was shirtless.

"I'll call you later Chloe." He closed the phone, tossing it on the bed, and stood. Renee regarded him easily, allowing her eyes to slip down to his brutalized torso. She no longer felt revulsion, like before. Those scars were a part of Jack, and now, she had them too.

"Give it a minute for the hot water to catch up," she said huskily. She crossed in front of him, to the far bed. "The water pressure is not that great either."

Jack retrieved his shirt and put it on. Renee had changed into a t-shirt and jeans, and her skin was dewy from the shower. She sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, cradling her damaged arm, the bandage spoiled. She looked sheepishly at him. "I tried to keep it dry, do we have anything?"

He realized he was staring at her, and he looked away, abashed. "Yeah, I actually grabbed some things at the hospital." He looked at her, uncertain if she wanted him to help or not, if she was ok with it. She looked up at him, her eyes large and soft, and held her wrist out in front of her.

He took the roll of gauze, tape and scissors from his bag and placed them on the bed. He sat on the end, turned toward her. Carefully he snipped away the ruined bandage, revealing the wounds underneath. She didn't look away. He held the slender arm in his hands, gently rolling it into the light to get a better look. The slashes were deep and ugly, but they were healing. A lump rose in his throat as he looked at that mangled arm, at the woman who owned it. Their eyes met over the scar, hers glistening with unspent tears. "I'm sorry," she whispered, as a tear escaped down her cheek. He looked at her fully. "Don't be," Jack said quietly, and wiped away the offending tear, allowing his fingers to slip behind her ear, to rest along her hairline. "You shouldn't be sorry for anything."

She chewed her lower lip, her brow furrowed. As she looked at him, her face went strangely dark. "I don't think I know how to do this anymore, Jack."

_Live_, he though bleakly. _She __doesn't know how to live_. He'd felt that way once, after China. Jack drew her close to him, pressed his lips to her forehead, letting them linger on her petal-soft skin. She smelled incredible, like soap and something wonderful he could find no words for. He looked into her eyes, brushed her hair away from her face.

"You're gonna be ok," he told her. He thought of his appointment in New York, the scheduled tests. "I think we both are."

-0-0-0-

Finished. I had not planned for this chapter to be the last, but the story it to work out that way, so I let it. I would love to revisit Vital Signs with a sequel or a prologue, but as far as this story, it's done (still subject to copious rewrites, perhaps :-)). Let me know what you think. Thank you to everyone who has commented and followed this; you have been WONDERFUL.


	7. Falling Without Wings: An Epilogue

Renee sat cozied into the leather couch, Jack's gray UCLA sweatshirt bunching at the elbows, doing the Sunday _Times_ Jumble. It was a Monday, and they had been in New York for two months.

She had stayed with him. They had never discussed it, had never even broached the subject. It was something understood, seemingly, in that quiet, cool way of Jack's, as if he's decided the answer before the question is ever asked. There was a time in Renee's life when she would've resented that, decisions made on her behalf, but in the weeks following her suicide attempt, she had relished the luxury of not thinking. Jack seemed to intuit that, and had thought nothing of dealing with the mundanities of life she at first found so maddening. Thought nothing of taking care of her.

_Jack_. She smiled at the thought of him, adjusting her legs on the couch where he slept. That had been another short discussion. He had insisted that she have her own space, and there was no question, in his mind, who would take the couch. She wondered briefly if that wasn't the reason the couch held such magnetism for her, because of her inherent need to be close to him.

The admission no longer shocked her. She needed Jack like she needed air, a fact which, upon realizing it, had sent shockwaves of fear through her stubbornly independent mind. Still, it was there, and while the fear had subsided, it left in its wake inexorable need. And yet she found herself wanting more.

That admission no longer shocked her, either, and she believed, by the way he looked at her, that Jack felt the same, yet they found themselves embroiled in an awkward dance, avoiding love they weren't ready to give or couldn't burden the other to receive.

Renee crossed to the window, letting the evening sun bathe her in gilded light. Jack's apartment was an expansive studio flat overlooking Manhattan's business district, and the floor-length windows allowed a breathtaking view of New York City glittering and gleaming at day's end.

There was so much life down there, she thought quietly, so many people. And down there, among them, was Jack.

Renee looked out over the city, drinking in the warm light. The adjacent building was a white stone behemoth in the gothic style, with vaulted windows that pigeons favored. Pollution had tarnished most of its alabaster veneer, and smutty striations dripped wearily down its stone side. On the dingy ledges facing Jack's window, pigeons often perched above the city. Renee could see two of them in the dying light, roosting in shadow.

Jack was at the hospital for another test. He never let her go with him, claiming she'd spent enough time in hospitals, and while it bothered her at first, his not wanting her there, she now accepted that, for whatever reason, Jack was determined to walk his path alone.

For as much as she had learned about him in the past two months, there was that much more she didn't know. She saw glimpses of him in his smile, in the depth of his eyes, but he kept his weaknesses, among other things, to himself. Renee realized that there were many components to Jack Bauer, and, despite the probable difficulty of having that knowledge, she resolved to know them all.

Renee watched the sun flame loudly behind the buildings just as it sank below the horizon, burning brightest at the last, its red-orange tentacles swathing everything in its decadent radiance. After the appointments, she usually met Jack at a local bistro for dinner. It became a tradition of sorts when Renee, through some deduction, realized that for whatever reason Jack preferred not to come directly home after the tests. Noticing the time, she decided to get ready.

After showering and dressing, she realized with some alarm that it was properly dark and Jack was not back yet. As if in answer, from its spot on the bed her phone rang, and she welcomed a shiver of relief when she saw that it was him.

"Jack?"

"Hey. I'm sorry I made it so late." He sounded tired, Renee thought. She could hear the sounds of New York City permeating the taxi cab.

"I was worried," Renee admitted. "I'm just glad you're ok. You are ok, aren't you?"

"I'm fine," he said. "I'll be there in about thirty minutes." A pause. "Don't worry about me Renee," he said in lieu of goodbye, and ended the call.

Of course that caused her to do the exact opposite, since he'd never said that before, and for the simple fact that they weren't meeting for dinner, after all. She slipped off her shoes, sat down on the couch, and waited. She would worry until he walked through the door.

-0-0-0-

Jack climbed a bit stiffly out of the taxi and looked up into the sky, where the large apartment building, with its hundreds of seeking eyes, seemed to go on endlessly into the night. From his perspective on the sidewalk, it seemed a perpetual beanstalk of steel and glass, bent on piercing the heavens. He smiled a little at the thought of Renee, behind one of those lighted portals, waiting for him, and immediately felt a twinge of guilt.

He was incredibly selfish. On his best days, he believed she wanted to be there, that she was happy and fulfilled. But there was always a part of him that doubted what life there could be for her in New York, and he wondered about her job or family, though she spoke of neither. On his worst days, Renee was a bird in a gilded cage, restless and stifling under Jack's attentions.

It was a bad day.

Mercifully, the elevator was empty, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He thought of her, of how she had filled his life for the last two months, and smiled. She was so different from the fragile woman he'd seen in the hospital, so strong. He'd watch her, day by day, claw her way back to life. He admired her for that.

The elevator settled on his floor, shuttering like a mechanical dinosaur before it opened its jaws. Almost reluctantly, he keyed the door to his apartment and eased it open.

The first thing he saw was Renee, leaning over the dining room table. She was preoccupied with arranging various sizes of takeout containers, and didn't see him at first. The fixture over the table inflamed the gold tones in her hair and cast her bare arms in a warm glow. She wore a sleeveless blue silk blouse and gray slacks, the latter of which were well-proportioned to her dancer's legs. It was one of those legs she held out behind her, presumably for balance, as she stretched to reach the far side of the table. Her feet were bare, and on her pointed toes he could see the slightest hint of pink polish.

"Hey."

She turned instantly at his voice, the relief palpable on her face. "Hey," she said quietly. Jack stood in the doorway, without his jacket, looking lost. In his hand, he held a small white bag, like one from a pharmacy. He pushed the door shut.

Renee drew him into a warm embrace, wicking the cold from his body. "I missed you," she admitted. She didn't care how it sounded. "Missed you too," he said absently. He was miles away. She withdrew, her hands on his upper arms, and looked at him with narrowed eyes. "What's wrong," she asked him firmly.

Jack looked at her then, and she noticed the fatigue, the weariness around his eyes. "I have an infection," he said matter-of-factly. "They found it today."

She swallowed. Somewhere inside her there flared a whisper of panic, but she tamped it down. "Can it be treated?"

Jack looked slightly past her, into the night. "Yeah, it's fine," he said dismissively. "I've got some medicine."

She hugged him again, and he returned it gingerly. _He must be in pain_, she thought terribly, though he would never say so. She took the little bag from his hands, placing it on the kitchen counter. She looked at him appraisingly. "What did they do to you today," she asked him.

"A spinal tap and bone marrow biopsy," he said quietly. He looked at her, impassive, and his placid acceptance made her suddenly angry-not with Jack, but with all he'd had to endure. Ever.

She walked to him, placed her hands on his chest and looked into his face. "I want to see," she said firmly. Her eyes, glittering in the low light, held a resolve that Jack had never seen there.

He said nothing as she walked behind him. Wordlessly, she lifted his shirt over his head, taking her time finding the small bandage on his lower back. She brushed it with the back of her hand and felt him quicken in response. It felt warm, almost feverish, and stood in stark contrast to the cool flesh of his back. It was so unfair, she thought mildly, all of it was so cruelly unfair.

Lightly, she traced her hand up the curve of his back, savoring the strong lines of his neck with her open palm. He exhaled slowly, his eyes slipped closed. She rested her face against the flat plane of his shoulder, placed a kiss above one of his scars. She trembled slightly and her heart beat faster. Jack was in every breath.

Jack could feel his resolve unwinding, rushing toward critical mass. She was touching him, kissing him, and his head swam. He could feel her eyelashes against the flesh of his back, her warm breath. "Renee," he began roughly, but said nothing else. He wanted this, yes, wanted her, but wasn't sure if it was right or wrong, and couldn't think, couldn't think of anything. It did not matter. There was just the two of them, together, and there were no rules.

He turned to face her. Her lips were parted and moist. The ambient light of the city played extravagantly over her soft features, her slowly rising chest, her hair, her eyes. She was wholly, impossibly beautiful.

Jack kissed her then, strong and deep, relishing the heat of her mouth, her generous lips, the soft skin of her neck, and she returned it. She clung to him, moving her hands over the length of his chest, to his waist. She was falling, she realized, plummeting to earth and there was only Jack, Jack and nothing else, to center her gravity.

They stumbled blindly in their passion, finding the couch. There they dispatched their clothes, their reservations, and themselves to each other.

-0-0-0-

It was sunrise. Jack and Renee sat on the floor near the window, wrapped in the same blanket, looking out over the dawn.

Jack closed his arms around her middle, placing a gentle kiss on her shoulder. She leaned back against his chest, turned her head into his, and smiled. Her skin, warm in the morning sun, melded wonderfully into his, a completed circuit of connectivity.

On the ledge of the building across the street, two pigeons fluffed their feathers against the morning chill. The first, large and dappled dark gray, perched on the cornice, testing the wind. The other, not far behind, followed suit. Renee watched them as they both, with little fanfare, stretched against the sky and made their flight. She followed them until they had disappeared into the horizon.

"Do you think they ever fall," she inquired absently.

"Who?" Jack queried in her ear.

"Pigeons," Renee replied. "Do you think they ever fall?"

Jack followed her line of sight to the empty ledge. He tightened his arms around her, his thumb sweeping little circles over the delicate skin at her waist. "No," he said into her hair, "I don't think they fall."

The sun rose in earnest now, burning away the crumbs of leftover fog. Renee looked out, past the window, his answer having satisfied her none. "What if they did," she asked seriously.

Jack smiled. There was so much to Renee Walker, so much more than he knew; he could scarcely wait to learn it all.

He brushed her hair away from her neck and placed a kiss there. "If one falls," he interrupted himself with another kiss, "then the other will catch it."

It was her turn to smile at his little lie. She turned to look at him. "Really?" she countered lazily, the tiniest hint of humor tinting her voice. He looked at her then, fully into her lovely face.

"Always," Jack said sincerely, as they watched the world wake up on the first morning of their lives together.

-0-0-0-


End file.
